


habits of my heart.

by venkyre



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Overwatch - Freeform, guys this is so trashy wtf, reyes needs an apple cider donut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 10:48:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12479856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venkyre/pseuds/venkyre
Summary: And despite how much she loved the man before her,―  she had been the one to ruin him.





	habits of my heart.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EdgeLord™ / Pest.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=EdgeLord%E2%84%A2+%2F+Pest.).



> A little one shot I promised for a friend. (':  
> May end up making this a series?

 

 

_; ;_

 

 

_“Anglela!”_

 

_The wings of her Valkyrie suit aren’t moving, laying limp at her spine as she struggles to grapple onto the edge of the building. Her futile attempts to haul herself upwards are becoming more antagonized, eyes clenching shut as she feels the sting of her muscles ache at the strain._

 

_An angel truly was no more when stripped of its wings._

 

_He’s still moving towards her, trying to reach her hand. But she’s too far. He can see her bloodied features in vibrant detail but he can’t extend his arm and get her over the ledge. War is raging behind him like a turbulent background score, his eardrums rattling at the exertion but he doesn’t care. She wasn’t of this war. She was a healer, a soul that was pure. Never inflicting damage, only protecting her own with a fierce love._

 

_He reaches her, calloused hands sliding around her nimble fingers. It’s familiar, and despite the mask that brands him as the Reaper, as someone she doesn’t know, he knows that she can recognize the familiarity that he feels deep within his heartstrings._

 

_But it’s too late._

 

_Pale fingers tighten around his, just for a moment. He thinks he’s got her, that she’s safe, just before she’s gone. Blonde hair haloing behind her as she falls, eyes clasped shut. He can hear himself scream her name again, knees giving out as his hand is still stretched out, begging for this to be a lie. Pain wracks his body, and he forgets how to breathe. He wants her to appear before him with a flutter of her golden wings, rolling her eyes at him saying that she was fine, and that “heroes never die.” He doesn’t see her collide into the charred pavement, but he knows. The tremor of his body and hoarse sobs is drowned out by the roar of the flames, mask sliding off his face as he clutches the hand her fingers skimmed as if it was burned._

 

_Angela Ziegler had died, along with the last of his humanity._

 

 

 

 

 

This definitely wasn’t how this plan was supposed to go.

 

He found himself in the stale scented chambers of the new Overwatch headquarters. Nose is crinkling against his mask, hating that he’s never been here, yet everything feels mockingly familiar. The containment cell has some new tech, and he finds himself unable to dissolve into the charcoal mist he often finds himself in. He’s impressed, yet can’t help but seethe at the same time. Morrison had been the one to cuff him, dragging him in here while he hissed at the pain in his shoulder. He got knocked out, and ended up in the pristine white room, slumped against the walls.

 

Darkened talons skimmed the blade of his injured collarbone, teeth gritting as a flare of pain jolted his spine. But he was able to trace the stitches to know that he’d been patched up.

 

A hollow laugh escapes him, his eyes clenching shut at the acidic sting that ignited his dark, chestnut eyes.

 

They replaced her so easily.

 

Before he can even get a tighter reign on his emotions, he’s sinking into the montage that’s been perfectly collaborated within the past year. Her face, walking into the medical firm as she’s impatiently tapping at her clipboard. He remembers her first engineering the valkyrie suit, golden wings making her the angel he always deemed her to be. Remembers bringing her something to eat as she rattles on about bioengineering and research. Remembers her soft voice as she gave her patients their last memory. His memory is foggy, but he remembers. He still remembers the way she kissed him on her lab table, her salt ridden tears trailing down the nape of his neck as she grips his scalp so painfully, saying that _she lost him._

 

But in the end, he was the one that lost her.

That memory is imprinted within his mind and he will _always_ remember.

 

He’s too caught up in his thoughts to notice the door thrum open. But he catches it, on his feet ready to snarl out a retort, only to stagger backwards.

 

“Gabriel. Sit.” Her voice, her eyes, her face. Everything’s identical. His throat aches, unable to form a coherent thought because she’s there, standing before him. Wire glasses sit elegantly on the bridge of her nose, and her sun kissed skin is tawny and splattered with dusted freckles that reside along the bridge of her nose. Blonde hair is framing her startling blue eyes, tucked behind her ears in a braid. Her white coat is still hanging on her lean body, hands adjusting her lenses.

 

All he can understand is that she said his name.

 

“You knew?” His voice comes out cold, as if her sudden appearance being indifferent to him. She can’t see the tremor of his hands under his armor, nor can she see his struggle to breathe.

 

Her brow bone quirks upwards, eyes casting a steely glare at him.

 

“I did not spend my years in the field just prancing around, _Reaper.”_ Spite entangles her tone venomously, hands balling into fists at her side. “The way you move, your right leg always extends out more.” She’s walking towards him, slowly. He still can’t comprehend the fact that she’s before him, in the flesh. “You can alternate your arms, and your forefinger always skims a weapon on the left, to keep your balance. You still are the same egotistical piece of shit, Talon or Overwatch. Not to mention I’ve memorized the feeling of the scar on your hand. I felt it when I took a hit in King’s Row.

 

“You died.” It’s abrupt, and he’s internally snarling at how the words come out restrained and weak.

 

Her expressionless shroud that conceals her features falters.

 

“So did you.”

It’s quiet, the distant thrum of the prison being the only evident noise to distinguish. He’s opening his mouth to tell her to leave if she wasn’t going to do anything, despite the way his mind begs against the action, protesting to tell her everything he’s been meaning to say. She cuts him off from his thoughts.

 

“Take it off.” His lip purses back, teeth gritting at her demand.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Your mask. I want it off.”

 

Her words make the choice for him, bristling in anger. “Is that you want?” His voice has gained its venom, lips coiled into a sneer even when she couldn’t see it beneath the gaunt mask. “Come to see your creation, Ziegler? How cute.” His hands come up to unsnap the hinge, cheek tilting upwards as he reveals the scars that mottle his face. Hood is yanked down, revealing every incision and laceration that lines every plane of his shoulders.

 

Her breath catches, blue eyes foggy. He expects her to express her disgust, to turn away and walk away with repugnance. But her nimble fingers trace the scar on his jaw, nose burying itself into his shoulder as her body shakes with a stifled sob.

 

She’s warm against him, blonde hair still tainted with the scent of citrus. Her knees are shaking, and the instinctual reflex to snake an arm around her slim waist was second nature. She’s talking, and he couldn’t decipher the language as she switches from german and english, voice cloaked with grief.

 

 _“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you die._ _Meine Geliebte. Es tut mir Leid.”_

 

His heart hurts. It’s a dull ache in his chest. But he cradles her to his chest, still whispering sweet nothings into the shell of her ear. It makes her cry a little harder, fists balled up in his cloak and he lets her.

 

“I forgive you.”

 

But what he’ll never know, is that she’d never forgive herself.

 

 

 

 


End file.
